The California Immigrant

by Barbara Anne King

  When Martin arrived for the meeting, he was already exhausted from all the talking he had done at the restaurant with several of his patrons. Everyone seemed to be worked up by some aspect of the war. If it wasn’t concern that their sons would be drafted into battle or that the town had swapped one brown-skinned race for another, who some thought were lazy and not as bright, then it was fear that the Japanese would attack or that apple shipments would be sunk by U-boats. Now Martin had to sit and listen to more talk about the war with the mayor holding court.

  Several men had arrived at the meeting before him and he knew them all. He tipped his hat and then took his seat next to Filip. “Do you have any idea why we’ve all been called here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s hope it’s worth our time.”

  Mayor Bill Simpson, a tall man with a full head of gray hair, entered the room right on time dressed in a formal, blue suit fitted closely to his slim figure. Everyone gathered around the conference table rose out of respect, and those nearby extended their arms to shake hands; others nodded their greeting. The mayor didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “I’ll get right to the point. The navy wants to take over our airport for its wartime operations. Quite honestly, I don’t think we have any choice in the matter. You probably know they’ve already taken over the Del Monte Hotel for a pre-flight training school.”

  “What do they plan to use our airport for?” Filip asked.

  “Good question. They plan to teach dive-bombing here and deploy pilots to the Pacific theatre. But they also plan to establish an auxiliary airfield so they can send blimps out to patrol our coast.”

  “So, it sounds as if a decision already has been made,” said Martin. ‘What do you want from us?”

  “I was just about to get around to that. The navy needs a support team here in town. Martin, since you are a navy vet, I thought you would be a perfect fit for the liaison role.”

  “Liaison? Could you just tell me what you want in plain English?”

  “I would like you to serve as the contact between the navy and the town. You know both well from your World War I experience and your businesses, which keep you in close contact with our citizens.”

  “What all will this involve? I don’t have much time to spare but am willing to give what I can.”

  “My understanding is that this role would have some flexibility. However, if there was an urgent matter you would have to make yourself available immediately.”

  “I’m in. When do I start?”

  “The navy plans to be operational by October but will be getting things ready before then. Also, you need to have a team that you can delegate tasks to when necessary. Do I have any volunteers?”

  Filip was the first to raise his hand, and then everyone around the table joined him. Martin knew most of them were trying to win points with the mayor but would bow out first chance they got. “I’d like to recruit Michael Latskovich since I know I can always count on him.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got a team to assemble. Navy representatives will be here next week to meet you and go over their timeline and requirements. You’ll get word as soon as I do.”

  “One more thing,” Martin said, “is this information we discussed here today confidential or should I say top secret? There’s a navy saying that loose lips sink ships, so I just want to be sure we have the authority to discuss our latest invasion.”

  “It would bode well for us to keep in mind the navy saying, at least for now. Soon, it will be quite evident that the navy is invading us as you call it.”

  “One recommendation, Mayor. The community will need to know what is happening so they don’t panic when they see sailors and submarines hanging around town. What we don’t need around here is pandemonium.”

  “Good thought. I’ll talk to my press assistant and get something ready. Any other thoughts or questions? Well then, I call this meeting adjourned.”

  The following week, the mayor called another meeting of the navy support team to meet with key naval officers responsible for the airfield. As Martin expected, the turnout was thin—just Filip, Michael, and himself.

  “What happened to the rest of your guys?” Mayor Simpson asked.

  “I guess they had second thoughts. But I prefer to work with a small group. That way we’ll be more nimble.”

  Before they could discuss the matter any further, three naval officers arrived. Martin, Filip, and Michael, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Barkley.” The Captain, a vital-looking, take-charge type, introduced his colleagues and they all shook hands before sitting down at the table. Martin marveled at the three officers dressed in their crisp blue uniforms, adorned with an assortment of patches and pins. He was becoming nostalgic for the time he served, always surrounded by men in uniform. Although he never made it above Petty Officer Second Class, he was in awe of those who climbed the officer ranks. Barkley was now a captain. I put money on him making admiral before this war is over.

  “Captain Barkley, this is your meeting so now I turn it over to you to conduct.”

  “Thank you, Mayor. First of all, I thank you for volunteering to serve in our war effort. You will be an invaluable source of help as we build our infrastructure and conduct our operation. We are currently in the process of negotiating for the land we need to build the airfield and hope to be here by July to start things rolling. Our goal is to have it fully operational by October. As the mayor probably mentioned, we will be teaching dive-bombing and performing coastal patrols. We’ll be rotating about twelve hundred men in and out and will have over seventy aircraft here. Watsonville and Moffett Field over the hill in Santa Clara will be the only two naval auxiliary airship fields on the West Coast.

  For a moment, no one knew what to say. Then Martin broke the silence. “Is there anything we can do to help between now and then?”

  “We will be in touch periodically and keep you informed on a need-to-know basis. At some point, we will have to come up with a plan to introduce the town to the navy. A smooth start will help ensure a smooth operation. Now, before we dismiss, let me show you the plan.”

  Captain Barkley spread out the map at one end of the table and motioned for Mayor Simpson, Martin, and his team to join him there. “Of course, you’ll recognize the current airport, which covers nearly three hundred acres in the north end of Watsonville near Freedom,” he said, pointing while keeping his gray eyes fixed. “We plan to purchase an additional thirty-five acres, which you can see rendered on the map. We propose to build support buildings to include an administrative office, fire station, supply building, barracks for our men, and a mess hall as well as a hangar, control tower, and a concrete ramp that will provide a better surface for takeoffs and landings.”

  Simpson, Martin, Filip, and Michael studied the map carefully. “This is our contribution to the war effort,” said Simpson.

  “You’ve got that right,” the Captain said. “This town is going to be known as a navy town once we arrive. No small town in the country will do more to help us win the war.”

  “First our little berg was blessed with fertile soil that put us on the map as the Apple Capital of the World. Now because we had the foresight to build an airport, we’ll be going down in the history books and remembered for all time,” the mayor said.

  “One strategic advantage this town has is that it’s a little berg as you called it. San Francisco could be a target of the enemy as well as Monterey and even Santa Cruz because of the lighthouse. But no one would suspect Watsonville of taking on such an important role in the war. I’m only glad we got your Japanese population out of here before they learned of our plan.”

  The Captain’s last remark did not sit well with Martin. He frowned and exchanged glances with Filip and Michael but kept mum. No use revealing his sympathies.

  “That’s right,” the Mayor said. “They’re all safely under wraps in Poston, Arizona out in the desert.”

  “The desert?” Martin said. “I thought they ha
d been sent to one of our camps in California…Manzanar, I think the name is.”

  “Let me shed some light on the subject,” Barkley said as he ran a hand through his short, blond hair. “The government wanted to put its money into an Indian reservation so the investment could be used for the future. Funny thing, though, the tribal council met to discuss the proposal and came out against it.”

  “Why was that?” Filip asked.

  “I heard they didn’t want done to others what had been done to them.” Of course, since they still don’t count for much, the government didn’t respect their wishes, Martin pondered. Or maybe they believed the Japanese looked like the Indians and belonged on a reservation. But better to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Okay. Enough of a digression. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. We hope to have the lease signed in June and then begin the site preparation. October is the operational date we’re shooting for.”

  “The apple and strawberry harvests should be about done at that time, then the town goes dormant,” said Filip.

  “Exactly our thought. We’ll make our move while they’re napping.”

  “No one will be looking out for you. And since most people don’t have airplanes, there’ll be no reason for them to snoop around the airport. But at some point we’re going to have to let the people know something even if it isn’t the whole truth,” said Martin.

  “Once we’re operational, our secret will be out anyway. All anyone will have to do is keep their eyes to the skies and they will spot war planes and blimps, which you can’t miss even if you are half blind.”

  Captain Barkley began folding up the map, signaling the meeting was about to come to a close. “This was for your eyes only so do not share it with anyone else. We have to always remember we are at war, and we may not always know who the enemy is.”

  “You mean there are spies among us,” Michael said.

  “No doubt. Japanese stand out but Germans and Italians can blend in. We always have to be on guard.”

  After they left the meeting, Martin, Filip, and Michael stood in a quiet corner of the parking lot to discuss what they heard. “I think one of our duties is to report suspicious characters to the navy.”

  “How will we be able to know if they’re suspicious?” asked Filip.

  “If they listen too carefully, ask questions, seem to know too much,” said Michael.

  “We can’t even trust people we’ve known for a long time. Back in Croatia, anyone could turn traitor with the right incentive.”

  “That’s right,” Michael said. “We’ve got to keep our early training in Croatia always in our minds. It will serve us well.”

  Chapter 48

  Martin drove down Main Street on his way back to the restaurant. As he passed the Fox Theatre, he glanced at the marquis to determine if a film was playing that he and Lena would like to see. Sunday matinees were about the only time they had to take in a movie, and this year they had seen one of the best, Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. Although, in an effort to escape the war, they preferred a comedy with some romance like Woman of the Year with Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn. Even Dumbo or Bambi, which they viewed with their grandchildren, was preferable to a movie that focused their attention on the war. But the film being advertised and now showing caught his eye. Martin turned around at the next corner and pulled up in front of the theatre so he could get out and read the poster.

  The movie’s title was Chetniks. The Fighting Guerillas. He couldn’t believe Hollywood had made a movie featuring Yugoslavians, even though they were behind times with the new fighting guerillas being Tito’s Partisans. The poster said the movie was dedicated to the fighting spirit of the Yugoslavian people. That made Martin proud. But it was really the fighting spirit of the Croats, led by Tito, that had that spirit in spades not the Serbians. But most Americans wouldn’t know about that. To them, all Yugoslavians were the same—they had no idea about the different cultures and how complicated the relationships were, not to mention the politics.

  When Martin arrived at the restaurant, he found Michael waiting for him. “I thought we were all done talking after that meeting we had with the navy.”

  “I just wanted to mention what I just heard going around town. There’s a movie now playing…”

  “I know all about it. I just stopped by the theatre to read the movie poster.”

  “Well, a lot of guys are up in arms about it. They don’t like the fact that the Serbian Chetniks are getting all the credit. Mihailović’s face was already plastered all over the cover of Time magazine last year.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. But this is Hollywood not Washington talking.”

  “But Hollywood is the propaganda machine. They’re making all sorts of war movies to stir up patriotism. They’re going to be releasing a movie this month based on The Moon is Down.

  “Oh, the book by our favorite son. Or should I say favorite brother since it is Steinbeck’s sister who lives in Watsonville? So, he’s now getting into propaganda writing.”

  “That’s because propaganda works. We need to tell people the truth.”

  “First, we should see the movie so we can talk from truth. Then we have to get our own propaganda plan together to spread the truth, at least as we see it.”

  When Martin got home that evening, he told Lena about the movie playing downtown. So they made plans to see it Sunday afternoon. “I will have to prep dinner beforehand or get Clara to cook it, otherwise, we won’t have anything to eat when we get home.” She gave Clara a call and she was more than willing to help out. When Filip heard about it, he called Henrik and Josip, and they all wanted to go see the movie, too. So, on Sunday they dropped their wives off so they could cook while they had an afternoon at the movies. The sisters didn’t mind since they appreciated every opportunity that came their way to share a little gossip and girlish friendship.

  When Lena got home she was pleased to see the table was set and the meal almost ready from what her nose told her about the smells in the kitchen. She knew every stage of a pork roast just by sniffing. “I think the roast is about done,” she said.

  “No, it should have twenty minutes more to go,” said Clara. “But I’ll check just to satisfy you.” When she opened the oven, seasoned air blew into her face, revealing a well-browned piece of meat. She got out the thermometer and inserted it. “It says one hundred sixty degrees…perfect. You were right, mother.”

  “I just have the experience, that’s all. Now, I volunteer to make the gravy.” They took the meat out of the pan and placed it on the carving board to rest. But to her dismay, Lena noticed that Clara had not added onions, celery, and carrots to the roasting pan to flavor the drippings for gravy. But she thought it wasn’t really that important. Most likely only Martin and she would notice the difference, but to them it would be a big difference.

  Once they were seated at the table and were well into the main course, conversation turned to the movie. Filip took the lead. “Martin, what did you think of the movie?”

  “On the one hand, it made me feel proud that our brothers abroad are fighting for freedom. They’re distinguishing themselves as the best resistance force in Europe. But on the other hand, it reminded me of what some of my nephews are going through. You know most of them are fighting with the Partisans.”

  “You usually don’t talk about the war over in Yugoslavia. This is the first time I’ve heard about your nephews.”

  “Well, it’s difficult getting news. Just a letter now and then. It usually comes from my sister, Veronika, who either doesn’t know much or doesn’t want to say. She never did like to pass along bad news.”

  “Getting back to the movie,” said Josip, “what do you think we should do about it?”

  “I’m not sure. But before we do anything, we should contact the Slavonic Society in San Francisco. They would know better than we how to handle this sort of thing. But at the very least, we should write a letter to the editor to explain
what is really going on over there and who the good guys are. Although, if we keep quiet eventually time will tell.”

  On Monday after the lunch hour, Michael arrived at the Dalmatian Coast Cafe followed by Filip, Henrik, Josip, and several others. Martin was already waiting for them at a long table that had been made by pushing several of the four tops together. “Sit down,” he said, “then we can start.” The men all took their places and then turned toward Martin, waiting for him to begin.

  “I have spoken to my cousins and in turn they have consulted the leaders of the Slavonic Society. Since the movie is receiving good reviews, even by The New York Times, they feel we should take the role of guerilla fighters and only strike when the timing is right. Their strategy is to publicize every success of the Partisans, no matter how trivial, while refraining from criticism of the Chetniks. It will only look like jealousy, then no one will pay attention to us anymore.”

  “But I still think we need to set the record straight,” said Michael. “People don’t even know the difference between Serbians and Croatians. When I go about town, friends who don’t know better are congratulating me on their success.”

  “I agree with Michael,” Filip said. “We need to do some explaining, even if we refrain from criticism.”

  “You should write the letter, Martin,” said Henrik. “If you mention your nephews who are fighting for the Partisans, people will listen more closely.”

  “That’s right,” said Josip. “That will give you authority, and because of your personal connection to the Partisans, you will have their compassion so your words will come across as sincere.”

  “Then it’s settled. Martin will write the letter. We can meet back here on Friday afternoon and have him read it to us before he sends it off to the editor. Do you think you can get the letter written by that time, Martin?”